The People That Time Forgot
By Edgar Rice Burroughs
Chapter 1
I am forced to admit that even though I had traveled a long distance
to place Bowen Tyler's manuscript in the hands of his father,
I was still a trifle skeptical as to its sincerity, since I could
not but recall that it had not been many years since Bowen had been
one of the most notorious practical jokers of his alma mater. The
truth was that as I sat in the Tyler library at Santa Monica I
commenced to feel a trifle foolish and to wish that I had merely
forwarded the manuscript by express instead of bearing it personally,
for I confess that I do not enjoy being laughed at. I have a
well-developed sense of humor--when the joke is not on me.
Mr. Tyler, Sr., was expected almost hourly. The last steamer in
from Honolulu had brought information of the date of the expected
sailing of his yacht _Toreador_, which was now twenty-four hours
overdue. Mr. Tyler's assistant secretary, who had been left
at home, assured me that there was no doubt but that the _Toreador_
had sailed as promised, since he knew his employer well enough to
be positive that nothing short of an act of God would prevent his
doing what he had planned to do. I was also aware of the fact
that the sending apparatus of the _Toreador's_ wireless equipment was
sealed, and that it would only be used in event of dire necessity.
There was, therefore, nothing to do but wait, and we waited.
We discussed the manuscript and hazarded guesses concerning it and
the strange events it narrated. The torpedoing of the liner upon
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